


an imperfect fit

by mikharlow



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Iori POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 16:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18450374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikharlow/pseuds/mikharlow
Summary: Someone who’s homely, warm, and never forgets to smile.Yamato Nikaido, Iori has observed, doesn’t exactly fit into any of these categories.





	an imperfect fit

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour thirty but I love this concept so I had to get it out quick!! ♡ please enjoy Them

The fading of the light from his window and the hot dryness pricking at his eyes serves as a quiet reminder that he should be going to bed soon. Iori reclines in his desk chair, stretching his arms high above his head and letting his fingers splay out. A yawn catches him by surprise, along with the sudden awareness of his parched throat. If he’s going to sleep, he’ll need to fix that first.

His phone screen flashes dully, displaying an unimportant notification but lighting up his lockscreen. A smile tugs at his lips — it’s an old photo of himself and his brother, around five and nine, with matching cheesy grins. He taps the glass to keep it on a little longer, remembering fondly when it was taken. The cardboard box slipping off his small head was what he swore to be a helmet for a soldier; the stick in his hand a valiant blade. He would protect Nii-chan, he had said, before any hero would.

His eyes drift to a photograph on his desk, of all seven of their little family this time. His hair is being ruffled by an excitable Tamaki, who has an arm around Riku. His brother is crushing his unitmates in a hug, with Nagi reaching out for Sougo and Yamato looking on at Mitsuki fondly.

Distantly, he remembers something he had said to their manager regarding his brother, after his embarrassment due to a prank pulled by Mitsuki himself had settled. The kind of person he would be okay with marrying his brother was...

_Someone who’s homely, warm, and never forgets to smile._

He looks again at the picture in the frame, and ponders. Yamato Nikaido, Iori has observed, doesn’t exactly fit into any of these categories.

It’s not like he’s the scum of the earth — no, that lazy man has always been observant and supportive, and over the years he’s come a long way further still. He just... wasn’t what Iori was expecting. Not to place expectations on his brother (that was the last thing he wanted to do) but Yamato’s a far throw from what most would call a ‘catch’. Who would glance at the form of a twenty-something year old man drunk to the point of unconscious and think ‘Ah, yes, this is the person I choose to spend my life with’?

Mitsuki, apparently.

Iori sighs and gets up from his desk. He remembers the anxiety coiling in his stomach as Mitsuki had announced to the group that he had a confession to make, the collective surprise at Yamato wrapping an arm around Mitsuki’s waist, and the slight tremble of Mitsuki’s voice as he said “Yamato-san and I are dating.” Most vividly he remembers, as he pulls open his bedroom door to enter the hallway, his own sweating palms as he worried whether or not this relationship would work out.

So lost in thought he was that he hadn’t even noticed the faint shifting glow of the television screen until it clicked off. A dark silhouette rose up from the couch, sending a slight shudder of fear down his spine, but when a lamp flickers on the familiar figure of Yamato calms him. He opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing so late, but the words die as he watches their leader stoop down over the couch again and rise with a... person in his arms. Iori could recognise his orange hair anywhere, hair that is gently swept out of his eyes with a light blow of air. Yamato gazes down at Mitsuki silently, only making a sound when he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to the sleeping man’s forehead.

Iori feels his face begin to flush, overcome by an overwhelming feeling of intruding on something he shouldn’t be. He feels guilty bearing witness to something so intimate, but he’s not left alone for long. To his slight horror, Yamato glances up to meet his stare, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Ah, Ichi.” he says rather casually, as if Iori had run into him by chance at a supermarket.

“Nikaido-san.” He cringes at the way his voice cracks, testament to the fact he hasn’t spoken for a good few hours, and that he hasn’t yet gotten his glass of water.

“You’re up late.” he observes.

“I could say the same of you.”

“In my defence, I was busy.” Yamato nods to the sleeping Mitsuki in his arms.

Iori squints at him. “I don’t wish to know the details of exactly what you and Nii-san were up to at 12 o’clock midnight.”

Yamato chuckles at that. “Don’t worry, Ichi, we were being safe.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Their bickering is hushed by the mumbling of Mitsuki, still not quite awake but conscious enough to clumsily clutch at Yamato’s shoulder, pulling himself closer to his chest. Even for someone with a sweet tooth like himself (not that he’d admit it), the look Yamato gives Mitsuki is almost too much for him.

He coughs. “W-Well, I’ll be heading to bed shortly. You should too, Nikaido-san. Don’t make keeping Nii-san up a habit.”

“It’s usually him that’s the one doing the keeping up.” Yamato smiles widely. “You know well enough how easy it is to just do what he says.”

Iori pads over to the kitchen and locates a glass. “You in particular seem to have quite the soft spot for him, you know.”

“You aren’t actually the first to tell me that.”

“Are you denying it?”

“I don’t think I’d sound very convincing if I tried.”

He lets the tap run on low, making as little noise as possible. “I don’t know, Nikaido-san, you are quite the actor.”

“I wouldn’t lie about him.”

The line catches Iori off guard, so softly was it spoken. He almost thought that for a moment a different person entirely had entered and spoken instead. When he turns around with glass in hand, Yamato isn’t looking at him.

“Oniisan’s arms are getting tired.” he yawns. “I’ll take Mitsu back to his room, then.”

He’s not entirely sure what spurs him to say this, but he speaks before he has a chance to stop himself. “I think Nii-san wouldn’t dislike it if he didn’t sleep in his own room tonight.”

The implication hangs in the air, dangling ready for Yamato to snatch it. As if to agree, Mitsuki lets out another sleepy noise.

Yamato looks towards his own bedroom door, and nods. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d hate it either.”

Iori smiles. “Goodnight, Nikaido-san. Don’t sleep in too late.”

He laughs as he walks out of view. “No promises.” he says down the hall.

Iori listens for the sound of a door clicking open, then shut. He sighs, gulping down his water and making his way back to his own room. Hand on the doorknob, he spares one last look towards Yamato’s room, then pushes his own open.

Maybe Yamato really was what Mitsuki needed after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> did you know that every time I think about yamamitsu my heart grows three sizes


End file.
